Better Left Alone
by CatClawz
Summary: Harry Potter isn't all that he seems to be. Inside stories from Hogwarts of what life is like with Harry Potter in your life.


A/N: I'm not sure where this came from. It probably belongs in the romance category too, but I don't really think so. Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter.  
  
Oy, how many times must I tell you? The Boy Who Lived was not the angelically good boy that everyone imagines. When they're not reading the Daily Prophet, that is.  
  
I'm someone who should know. Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Cho, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lee Jordan, Pravati, Lavender, Oliver Wood. Me. We are all his cast-offs, memories he doesn't care for any more. I know because I've watched him. He's gone through us one by one, taking what he wants. Saint Potter committing his thousands of sacrilegious acts. I know because I've watched him, and because I wanted him. Still want him, after all this.  
  
I think it started slowly back in his first year at Hogwarts. After all, he came from that Muggle family, definitely from the bottom of the food chain. (Although, who knows what kind of favors he managed to get from Dudley's friends.) When he got here, he was a quiet boy, even if he did attract a lot of trouble. He downplayed it, tried to stay out of the spotlight. Out of the dark he started asking for more favors.  
  
He was the boy who lived. He was shocking, charming, dazzling, and very good at wrapping people around his fingers. Anything he wanted, he got. He would ask, or simper, or better yet, cry at will. An eleven year old with big, soulful, green eyes can get whatever they want, if they try. Hermione did most of his homework. At some point he convinced Hagrid that he should start looking for a dragon's egg. I don't even like to think about how he got himself onto the Quidditch team.  
  
Maybe Snape is right; maybe Harry is just like his father. Maybe James Potter was as good at getting what he wanted as his son was. That might explain why Lily married him. Why he was so much in Dumbledore's favor. Why Harry is so much in his favor. One thing I've noticed: grown- ups never notice. They are charmed by his manner, but they don't see all the things he takes from inside us, his peers.  
  
Now that he's growing up, the favors are changing. It's no longer just getting the things that will keep him on top. They're...more personal, intimate favors.  
  
Okay, so maybe you don't want to believe me. Picture this: a fifteensixteen year old male, who can get almost anyone to do almost anything that he asks. What would you do?  
  
He was always very smart, very cunning. It helped him never get caught. Whoever was doing something for him would get a promise of something in return. Sometimes we would get it and sometimes we wouldn't. And we all loved him because he was so good sometimes. Every now and again he would have a shining moment as a Gryffindor, and we would all start loving him once again. So the favors went on.  
  
I remember once talking to Seamus and Dean. They were together at the time, and everyone knew it. Harry frequently interrupted them with little trysts, and there wasn't anything they could do about it. (I should add that Harry didn't care if any of us were together, and didn't do anything about it.) One night though, on a Christmas break when the dormitory was empty and the few people still at Hogwarts were staying up late, Dean and Seamus stole upstairs together. You can guess what they were doing. Soon after they had gotten alone, Harry slipped inside the dormitory. It was dark and he pulled up a chair without either of them realizing. They first noticed him at different times, but they could both tell that they would be in trouble if they stopped, so they continued. He watched the entire thing. When they were done, before they moved apart, he left just as quietly as he came, and that was the end of their evening.  
  
Seamus and Dean told me this in the break after lunch the next day. They were understandably upset. But Harry Potter didn't care. He wasn't even paying attention to them that day, he was focused on a Ravenclaw girl a year above us. She was only in one of his classes, so he was going to have Hermione give her a note from him in Arithmancy. All through lunch he had sat with Pravati, Lavender, and Hermione to ask their advice about what to put in the note. He wrote it carefully, putting down the verses they told him to. At least, that's what Dean and Seamus said during the break.  
  
When Hermione was away in extra classes, Harry would meet me in the library to get help wit his homework. I was considered to be one of the smarter students. At one such occasion at the end of the same Christmas break Harry walked up to me with a happy little smile on his face. After setting his books on the table he pulled a note from his robes and handed it to me with a smile that would have been an I'm-happy-for-you smile on anyone else. I guessed that Harry Potter was proud of his most recent accomplishment. I unfolded the note.  
  
It read: From a secret admirer—I think of you almost all the time. I wish I could get up the courage to tell you. It's hard because I know you probably don't like me because I'm so stupid. I've been trying hard to be smarter...for you. Maybe we could get to together. Let me know.—Neville Longbottom.  
  
Harry was watching with anticipation; I swallowed all the feelings that had risen to my throat and smiled back.  
  
"Good news?" he asked brightly.  
  
"Yes," I said, with the same sick smile. I knew why I had received the note in Neville's hand. Harry had made me write a similar one to Ginny last year. Fortunately, we had made up, and ended up getting together anyway. How could Harry have forgotten?  
  
It didn't matter; when Harry was finally done with getting his homework as good as possible, he took me with him for the walk to the Gryffindor. It was late, but standing at the end of the hallway with the Fat Lady's portrait was Neville.  
  
"Oh, Neville, there you are," said Harry. "I thought you were going to join us. You could have gotten caught up on Potions."  
  
"I'm sorry," Neville muttered, "Professor McGonagall wanted me to...I couldn't get away, and..."  
  
"That's all right," said Harry very brightly. "Maybe next time. I'll see you two later, I've got a lot of stuff to do." I would swear that he winked.  
  
Neville and I both muttered our good nights, and Harry disappeared into the common room. Neville was staring at the floor, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm...really sorry about that," he said at last.  
  
"Don't worry about it," I told him. "Life goes on, right?" He shifted again. "Unless," I said slowly, "you actually do have feelings for me, but you didn't want him to know?"  
  
Neville looked up at me this time. "No, nothing like that," he said, acute embarrassment showing all over his face. "I just felt like such an idiot, writing that to you."  
  
"Well, no harm done," I said, and stuck out my hand. We shook, and went on toward our beds.  
  
Sometimes those of us who give the favors have thought of having a club or something in private. It would be a sort of stupid thing to do, in meetings all we would have to do would be talking about the experiences we've had. At the moment there is no official club. We just all know who's been there and who hasn't and who we can talk with when the favors get hard. Our own personal support system. It's made better friendships than most things I can think of.  
  
It's an unofficial group for mainly two reasons. First, we don't want anyone to know about the favors. Second, we don't want Harry to know we exist. It would anger him, which would make him worse. And it would probably hurt him, which none of us can stand.  
  
I love Harry Potter dearly. I love the way he moves, the way he eats, the way he shakes his head. I love to watch him. He first started getting closer to me a year and a half ago. I was thrilled at the beginning. But as time went on, and he became more and more affectionate, other feelings crowded in. The little favors that came with his attentions took a little bit more out of me each time. I hated that feeling, the feeling that I had to be worth something to him to be considered. Sometimes I hated him. A few times I got so depressed I nearly slit my wrists. I got angry at stupid things, and it was hard to keep my temper in check. But I loved him too much to break it off. Harry Potter, the human addiction.  
  
A year ago he gave me our first kiss. We had left study room in the dungeon to walk to the stairs that would lead up to the front hall. In a deserted turn of the corridor he put a hand on my arm to stop me. When I turned to him, he dropped his bag full of books and slipped mine off my arm. Then he pushed me up against the wall and put his lips on top of mine. He kept pressing hard, and coaxed my lips open with his tongue. I let him; I put a hand up to ruffle his hair. When he was satisfied he pulled back; stood looking at me. We were both trying to catch our breath.  
  
His eyes roamed my face. "Good night, Draco," he said finally, and walked away.  
  
That wasn't the last time we've met. I don't argue over it either; I love him better than any of the guys, or the girls. But I wish I didn't. 


End file.
